Dear Seventeen-Year-Old Me

Please pull your head out of your ass, look around, and see how good you have it. Enjoy it because life only gets more complicated from here on out.

Quit crying over your “broken heart”; because you got rejected by a girl that you didn’t even really know. Had you known her, you would realize that it would have never worked out. Those fluttering insects in your belly; that invisible, benign, tumor in your throat; and your head on a turntable; are all indications of infatuation — not love. Don’t worry, you’ll figure out the difference yourself eventually.

Love is not “hello”; it is the mind-fuck that happens between “yes”, “I do”, and “goodbye”. When you find it, know that it will be worth it no matter how painful it gets. Your heart will be broken multiple times, I’d tell you how to avoid it, but I think you shouldn’t, the mistakes you make yourself will be the lessons that you’ll learn from the most.

Porn is not real sex. Real sex is better. Try to not do that thing with that thing that you think is pretty hot. You know what I’m talking about. You’ll only look like a dumbass when you actually do it.

I’d tell you more, but I doubt you’d listen. You’re seventeen and you have a penis — so you’re still a pretty big douchebag right now.

Don’t worry, you’ll turn out okay. If only you could read this, you’d probably turn out better.